


when the moon was burning red.

by ratkingzamo



Category: RuPaul's Drag Race RPF
Genre: F/F, bc i do love a cliche, big ol lesbians, photographer x musician
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:35:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25186489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ratkingzamo/pseuds/ratkingzamo
Summary: so maybe she doesn't see the appeal in country music. she does, however, see the appeal in trixie mattel.
Relationships: Trixie Mattel/Katya Zamolodchikova
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	1. someday is a story.

**Author's Note:**

> i had an itch and this is my mediocre attempt at scratching it. bear with me because it has been literal years since i last wrote a fic and i am genuinely just here for a good time.

"I have a job for you."

"No."

"You don't even know what it is!"

Katya barely spares Tatianna a glance, eyes darting back to the screen in front of her before she relents with a sigh, closing her laptop and moving it aside. She pulls her knees up to her chest, hands clasped on top of them. 

"You're right. Forgive me, dear Tati, my moon and my stars, fire of my loins or whatever," Words are coupled with the absolute fakest smile she can muster. "Please do enlighten me on the details of a job that I probably won't like and probably won't do."

The other woman can't even bring herself to argue, choosing to roll her eyes as she lets out a huff instead. She lets her bag drop on the table and then herself onto the couch. No point beating around the bush. 

"It's music."

"Nope."

"Katya," Tatianna throws her hands up with an exaggerated groan, "Why not? You're good!"

It's a tame compliment, one that Katya doesn't feel the need to brush off for once. Besides, there are bigger matters at hand, and a frown creases her forehead. 

"My photography isn't the problem here. You know I don't like music. Someone else can do it, surely."

She's done a couple of shows in her years of being a photographer, unfortunately more than she'd like and most of them free of charge. When she was first starting out and bands were begging for good shots for their social media and she was begging for material to fill out her portfolio. When she started working for her local magazine and they managed to get her a press pass into the bigger shows so that they'd have something to go along with their articles. Katya enjoyed it, sure. It was still photography, after all, but it was never her favourite. She'd made a name for herself in headshots, portraits, the odd bit of street photography and now that she has more freedom with her work, there's no need for her to go back to the music scene. There are and have always been better photographers out there for that kind of stuff.

"You listen to an obscene amount of Russian pop for you to not like music," Tatianna retorts. She leans forward, reaches into her bag and gropes around for the notebook that she'd shoved in there earlier in the day and continues before Katya can respond. "I know it's not your 'thing' but what kind of friend would I be if I didn't recommend you?"

Katya manages to hold back the mutter of _a good one_ and green eyes follow her movements, only to narrow when she turns her head to look at her. 

"Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden? Complimenting my work, dropping my name… If you're looking to have me killed off you know that talking about me favourably isn't that great of a way to sway suspicion, right?"

"Girl, you test me every day but if I wanted you dead I would've done it myself years ago. Now, hear me out. She’s a country—"

_So that's why. Deal-breaker_. 

"Absolutely not." Katya deadpans.

Notebook is slapped against tattooed skin and the blonde rubs the spot dramatically, mouth falling open while Tatianna stares at her. 

"I'm sorry, was my way of telling you to shut up not explicit enough for you? Shut up."

Katya throws her head back against the cushion, thinks twice about the childish whine that's about to leave her throat. If she didn't like music, she definitely didn't like country music. Men singing about beer and trucks with over-the-top twangs and ladies singing about killing said men who sing about beer and trucks because they cheated on them. She's all for girl power and shitty men getting what they deserve but at the end of the day it's a vicious, too straight cycle that the Russian has absolutely no interest in getting into. A close-minded view of country music? Perhaps, but does she care? Not at all.

She's pulled out of her head when Tatianna pokes the corner of her notebook into the pale skin of her thigh. "It's literally just a thirty minute set. Get some earplugs, suck it up and collect your bag. You know that they're going to be good enough for them to buy some off you afterwards."

Even more off-putting. 

"So it's not even a definite paid gig? Fuck that." She pushes herself up, bare feet padding against the hardwood into the kitchen. Her head is buried in the fridge when the singer pipes up again and she tries not to be distracted by the rumble of her stomach.

"She's cute."

Interest piqued, but not enough.

"All girls are cute. What's your point?"

"That doesn't make up for what she'll put you through?" 

She can hear Tatianna move into the kitchen and Katya straightens up just enough to pop her head above the fridge door and quirk an eyebrow. There's a slight grin on her face as she leans against the counter, knowing that it's definitely not enough. 

"Look, she's looking for a touring photographer. You get some good shots and if it goes well, you'll be getting paid weekly for it. Come on." 

"Why are you pushing so hard for her?" the blonde questions.

"I'm pushing hard for _you_ ," Tatianna clarifies. "You need to get out, and by get out I mean further than the studio down the street." 

A quiet offended gasp leaves her chest and Katya closes the fridge with a pout, hands empty. "I get out! Sorry that I'm not travelling the world for months at a time like some people."

Some people including Tatianna herself. They'd met four years ago, the singer trying to grab herself a spot performing at one of the venues Katya frequented only to end up drowning her sorrows on the barstool next to her, telling her all about her goals to be performing in a five hundred capacity room instead of a thirty capacity underground bar. Since then, it's safe to say both of their careers had taken a turn for the better. Tatianna recorded her own demo, managed to get herself signed to a label within a couple of months, whereas Katya went from doing portraits for dirt cheap just to get her name out there to barely having any time to herself and charging upwards of four hundred dollars for a couple of hours.

They'd watched each other grow into their professions, and they couldn't be prouder.

"That's my point," Tatianna sighs, chin coming to rest on her palm. "You _could_ be. When have you ever turned down a chance to visit somewhere you’ve never been before?"

The urge to stomp her feet is strong, eight year old Katya begging to be unleashed just so she could pull on Tati's hair just because she's _right_.

"With a pretty girl. Who is _so_ nice, by the way. I got to speak with her at the studio and she seems like a doll. Looks like one too."

Eyes roll once again, a common occurrence in Tatianna's presence, and the photographer folds over, swipes her bangs away from her forehead to rest it against the cold surface, face scrunched as if she's in physical pain. 

"What's her name?"

There's a victorious skip as Tatianna goes to retrieve her notebook from the couch, Katya watching out of the corner of her eye when she throws it onto the counter, fingers immediately flipping through the pages with her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. 

"Where- Oh! Trixie Mattel. Thursday at eight, usual venue."

Pleading browns practically bore into her and she has to turn away, listening to several of the vertebrae in the middle of her back crack as she stretches out.

"Maybe," Katya holds her hand up, one finger raised to stop her friend from getting way too ahead of herself once she sees her mouth open. "Maybe, okay? I'm not making any promises and if I do end up doing this, you owe me."

Tatianna beams and turns to walk back to the couch, grin thrown over her shoulder. 

"You'll thank me one day, I know it!"

***

So maybe she doesn't see the appeal in country music. She does, however, see the appeal in Trixie Mattel. Long blonde hair, heavy makeup that sculpts her face in all of the right ways and legs to _die_ for.

Understandably, Katya had been curious. She'd waited for Tatianna to leave before throwing herself back down onto the couch, shuffling deep into a pile of pillows with her laptop beside her and the photos that she was supposed to be editing at the back of her mind. She fought it at first, adamant that she wouldn't shoot the show, but all of her friends knew of her distaste for music. Tatianna wouldn't bring her up for no reason, and _no_ , claiming to care about the amount of culture she was missing out on did not count as a _valid reason_.

Countless youtube videos later - all on mute, she wasn't about to ruin it for herself straight out of the gate - and Katya finds herself positively enraptured. There's a way that the musician commands the stage; the grins when she catches something a member of the audience has yelled out and the more subdued, genuine smiles as she steps away from the microphone during an instrumental break. She doesn't want to get too ahead of herself, but Katya's actually looking forward to photographing her and no one is more shocked about that fact than she is.

Her phone sits on the coffee table and the two texts that she'd been ignoring are practically mocking her at this point. She knows. She doesn't know how Tatianna knows but she knows _she knows_. Katya reaches for it, prepares herself for the texts that she knows are going to expose her.

_[tati]: well ??_

__

_[tati]: get your hand out of your snatch and stop ignoring me_

____

_[katya]: no_

_____ _

_[katya]: maybe you should take a page out of my book you sounded stressed today <3_

______ _ _

_[tati]: anyway !_

_______ _ _ _

_[tati]: will you do it_

________ _ _ _ _

_[tati]: you know you want to say yes so just say it_

_________ _ _ _ _ _

Katya throws her phone in the general direction of her feet before pressing her palms into her eyes. To anyone else, her intense dislike of shooting shows would probably seem stupid, but she truly can't think of anything worse than spending a little under an hour trying to weave her way in-between the crowd for the sake of composition, apologising for every misstep and then being shoved by assholes who don't care about her doing her job even though people like her are the reason they have any content in the first place. It's stress piled upon stress and she doesn't need any of it.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

But she _wants_ to.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

She wants to see Trixie in her element. She wants to get the perfect shot of her head thrown back as she puts everything she has into pleasing a crowd. The blonde groans and lurches forward, snatching her phone from where it lay on the cushion and unlocking it.

_________ _ _ _ _ _

_[katya]: can i tell you about you?_

__________ _ _ _ _ _ _

_[katya]: you're an actual fucking villain, did you know that?_

___________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_[tati]: villains tend to be the ones who get shit done_

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Katya stares at the screen, fingers hovering. She doesn’t know why she’s hesitating as if she hasn’t already decided but it could have something to do with genuinely hating it when Tatianna gets her way, and she has to force herself to reply. She has a couple of days to prepare for the show, to push down the ball of anxiety that always comes with them. She can do this.

____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_[katya]: don’t make me say it_

_____________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_[tati]: great !_

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The smirk on her friend’s face is obvious, and Katya turns her phone over to be forgotten about for the rest of the night.

______________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _


	2. even with the music loud.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trixie holds out a hand that the photographer is quick to take. "I've heard terrible things about you."
> 
> "Can't be worse than what I've heard of your music." Katya fires back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it fully took me a month to write this chapter and i think my writing style changed half way through but you know what... i am vibing and i simply do not want to talk about it. no beta, just me and my dyslexic self <3
> 
> come chat @ gothkatya on tumblr x

It’s not surprising in the slightest to see Tatianna’s grinning face waiting for her right outside of the venue, all of her smugness proudly on show. The blonde walks straight passed her, shoulder pushing against the large wooden door with one hand securely on her messenger bag.

“You’re not funny,” Katya grumbles. She knows where to go, weaving her way through the crowd in the foyer and keeping Tatianna just within her peripheral as she follows close behind. Her voice gets progressively louder the further in they get. “You’re like the least funny person I’ve ever met. Unfun? Most unfunny.”

Face scrunches during the debate with herself and Tatianna laughs, coming to a stop just outside of the door into the main room. “I didn’t force you to say yes.”

“You basically did! _Oh, she’s cute, Katya. Oh, look at my big brown eyes that will stare at you in disappointment for the next five days if you say no, Katya_ ,” she imitates.

There’s nothing Katya hates more than disappointing her friends - unless it’s flaking on an event, in which case she doesn’t consider it disappointment but more of a mild inconvenience if she gives them at least three days notice - and Tatianna just so happens to know exactly how to use it to her advantage.

Brown eyes roll and the singer reaches forward to tug on the strap of the blonde’s bag, head tilted. “I’m gonna go say hi. I’ll be offstage if you need anything, okay? It’s been a while and I know what you’re like.”

Moments like this between the two of them are few and far between. They’re weird while they’re happening, Katya thinks. Tenderness from the people she spends years throwing insults back and forth with is always odd, but at this point Tatianna knows her almost better than she knows herself and, at the end of the day, she’s always grateful for it no matter how gag-worthy it is. Tatianna's been the one to pull her out of some dark places and if anyone gets the privilege of seeing Katya soften, it's her.

“I’ll be fine,” Katya offers a reassuring nod. Whether it’s for Tatianna or herself, she isn’t quite sure. “I’ll see you in there. Here's to hoping I don’t get stuck behind a six foot lump of sweat.”

“Girl, that’s guaranteed.”

The photographer grimaces as she waves her off, watching until the door shuts behind her. The bass from the opening act thumps in her ears and she wishes she’d taken Tatianna’s advice to bring earplugs, because she already knows that she’s going to regret it at the end of the night when she’s lying in bed and listening to nothing but ringing. Perhaps that’s why she enjoys other genres of photography so much: less risk of literally going deaf.

The door opens as a large group of people walk by and the increase in volume only serves to remind her that she does actually have to go in there at some point. Katya throws her head back, mouth hanging open as she stares at the high ceiling for a few seconds, and then straightens back up with a shake of her arms. Maybe if she looks like she’s trying to do something about her anxiety, it’ll actually work.

It’s cooler in the main stage room despite it only being two thirds full up to now, and Katya’s thankful for the slight breeze on her neck from the air conditioning because the crowd in front of her is daunting. It’s one of the most diverse crowds she’s seen in the local scene which is great and all, but it also means that she doesn’t know what to expect. An overwhelming smell of body odor and a mosh pit? A front row that spends the entire show on their phones and is completely dead? It's up in the air.

She sucks in a breath and grips the strap of her bag, white knuckles and all, before attempting to weasel her five-foot-six body in between burly men in gingham and teenagers decked out in black with experimental haircuts, muttering one quick apology after the other. There’s dirty looks, which are never a shock, and with some people she has to try a little harder when they move to block her path. She’s found that a firm, innocent elbow in the kidneys never hurt anyone. 

It’s undoubtedly the worst part of the job and she hates confrontation, but she’s a professional who’s here with a purpose. The art of the bitch face has been mastered for the sole reason of avoiding confrontation during these situations. There’s no other deterrent quite like an expression that says _say anything to me and I’ll break your fingers._

Somehow she winds up a couple of rows back from the front, next to a guy who’s practically twice her size but seems nice enough. She nods at him and lifts her camera out of the bag so he knows what she’s there for and it’s almost comforting when he nods back because he is the last person she wants knocking into four thousand dollars worth of electronics. She doesn’t count on it, but she hopes he’ll end up being one of those audience members that looks out for her instead of ruining her every shot.

It’s a whole routine after that. Attach the lens, figure out the best settings for the venue. She’s done this a million times to know exactly what will and won’t work. Now all that’s left to do is wait. Which doesn’t take long, if the dimming lights say anything, and the few minutes after they come back on where the stage is still empty gives her time to make some last minute adjustments. She cringes at the cheers that seem to fill every single one of her senses and takes a few mindless test shots of the stage to make sure everything is balanced properly, squinting as the yells get louder as if they in any way hinder her ability to see the screen.

When she finally looks up, all she sees is leg. 

Well, maybe not, but that's all she can focus on. Tan legs in white go-go boots and a lace dress that barely comes down to mid-thigh with what she's certain is a sheer midriff hidden behind the guitar. If Katya wasn't sweating before, she definitely would be by now because _what the fuck_.

There's a wide grin as Trixie adjusts the microphone stand, hair cascading over her shoulders in soft curls, and the photographer takes her first real photo of the night right there as she introduces herself before easing into her first song. Something about mothers and fathers and brothers and lovers and Katya would've paid more attention to the lyrics if she wasn't so set on catching every single expression on Trixie's face, every eyebrow lift and every upturn of her overlined lips.

The rest of the show carries on much the same; original songs that Katya honestly doesn't mind the sound of, little jokes shared with the crowd in between them. One quick glance down at her watch tells her that it's almost time for the set to end and she watches as Trixie takes a sip of water and moves the capo on the neck of her guitar in place for the final song.

"Do you guys like these boots? Guess what they're made for," There's a pause, the crowd whooping as she shows off her heel. "Christopher fuckin' Walken." 

Katya snorts. 

Trixie makes a point of walking around the stage when she can, popping her hip while she's stood in place, gesturing at the crowd when the lyrics call for it. There's a different energy about her during this one, alluring and almost sultry, and Katya is completely mesmerised. One specific pause finds the musician's eyes on her and Katya's glad her camera covers most of her face in that moment because she can't help the stupid smirk that pulls at her lips when Trixie pretends to shoot her with her stupid finger gun. 

It’s the small things. She's always appreciative when artists take time to acknowledge her as a photographer and give her the chance to get a shot that she knows people will enjoy.

The instrumental break comes up, leaves Katya laughing as she watches Trixie strum away and somehow end up on the floor because honestly, truly, what the fuck is happening? It's definitely not the kind of show she was expecting from a country artist but now she gets why the venue is almost completely full. 

Once the music cuts and she takes a bow, complete with a little wave, the crowd cheers and claps while Katya lets out a breath as Trixie leaves the stage. Her first show in years is over and done with and was surprisingly not as bad as she was anticipating. Minimal shoving, music that didn't completely blow her eardrums and lights that weren't complete garbage. It's a checklist that is rarely fulfilled these days.

People filter out, giving the blonde a minute to look through a couple of her final shots. She's secure in her work and she knows she's good, but it's rare that she's proud of her music photos. These, however… she's convinced that it's Trixie's fault because she's never looked at her own work quite like this before. She shakes her head and flicks her camera off, haphazardly shoving it back into her bag while trying to ignore the ache in her arms and shoulders and the numbness of her feet, and makes her way over to the barrier at the side. Resting against the metal, she stretches out her back before leaning her cheek on her forearms, staring idly into the dark section where she knows Tatianna will end up strolling out of.

In true Tatianna fashion she leaves her waiting at least ten minutes and Katya's sure it's because she knows she won't leave without saying goodbye. Tongue pokes out mockingly between her lips and the blonde just manages to catch herself in the middle of flipping her off when she spots Trixie following her. She's quick to stand up straight, throwing a dirty look at her best friend when she spots a certain all-knowing smile. 

"Katya," Tatianna nods, gesturing between the two of them, "Trixie. Trixie, Katya."

Trixie holds out a hand that the photographer is quick to take. "I've heard terrible things about you."

"Can't be worse than what I've heard of your music." Katya fires back.

She's met with silence and for a moment Katya thinks she's gone too far, that she's fucked this up before it's even began. She's just about to apologise when Trixie barks out a laugh and Tatianna lifts a hand to her mouth to cover the grin that's breaking out.

"Fuck you!" Trixie screeches, turning to look at the other singer. "You didn't tell me she was fucking rotted."

"I thought you should experience that firsthand. I knew it wouldn't take her long."

The blonde breathes a sigh of relief, only then realising that she still has her hand wrapped around a slightly bigger one. She lets go and takes a second to observe while the two artists chat. Trixie is ridiculously tall, towering over her by more than just a few inches, but Katya's not entirely sure how much of that comes from those dumb fucking boots that she's wearing. They make her thighs look phenomenal but god, she hates them, and she thinks that they as a society have progressed past the need for go-go boots. She was right about the sheer material, one section around her waist and another one around her shoulders. Based on the performances that she's seen it's one of Trixie's more toned down looks but she still manages to pull it off effortlessly.

The other blonde is looking at her expectantly when she manages to tear her eyes away from the fabric, and Katya glances at Tatianna for any kind of hint of what to say and is not at all surprised when she doesn't help her, so she clears her throat, eyebrows furrowing. "I just completely ignored you. Say that again?"

"Let me see."

"What?"

"Your scars, Linda," Trixie rolls her eyes before clarifying, "Your photos."

"Oh! They're not-" She fumbles with her bag, retrieving the camera and pulling up the photos from the night as she leans back against the barrier. Trixie's head pokes over her shoulder and Katya suddenly struggles to speak. "I'm not a music photographer. Not typically. Tatianna smacked my ass and dragged me here by the scruff of my neck."

The musician turns her head slightly, with Katya mirroring the action just so she can see her out of the corner of her eye. "Is that something you're into?"

An exaggerated groan scratches her throat and she shakes her head, beginning to slowly scroll through the photos. "I wouldn't tell you if it was."

Tatianna is on the other side, chin resting against her. Katya tries her best to push down the slight discomfort that comes with people seeing her raw photos. Editing is what makes or breaks an image and no one is praising or paying her for the befores, not in this genre especially.

"These are good," Trixie's voice is quiet, the low noise making the blonde swallow. She's not even a fraction of the way through the amount of photos she took but she can feel the taller woman move away, the cold air that brushes her damp neck making her shiver. "You'll send me some edited ones, right?"

Katya nods, and she bumps her own cheekbone gently against Tatianna's to push her off of her shoulder so that she can turn around and put everything back.

"Are you gonna pay me?" she asks jokingly, eyebrows raised. It's not a smart business move, but at this point she honestly doesn't expect it. Shooting the show tonight was, shockingly enough, a pleasure.

Trixie turns to look at Tatianna, lifting one hand to cover the opposite side of her mouth and whispering not at all quietly, "Is she as cheap as she looks?"

Katya narrows her eyes. "Says the one dolled up in a fucking five dollar nightgown!"

It pulls another laugh from the singer and Katya decides then and there that it's a life goal to make her do that more.

"Come on," Tatianna taps the metal and then gestures over her shoulder, back to the side of the stage, "Pull your old, frail body over this barrier. I feel like I'm at an outdoor meet and greet."

The photographer huffs but hands over her bag anyway, easily vaulting over the parting. It's a skill she's perfected since she first started because absolutely nothing is more embarrassing than trying to get back into the photo pit from the crowd and almost eating complete shit in front of the entire front row. Fortunately, she doesn't speak from experience. She does, however, speak from the experience of watching someone else's experience.

Strap back over her shoulder, she follows them backstage and into a fairly decent sized green room. There aren't too many people, most of them on stage packing up leftover equipment, and her eyes dart between those left as Trixie points them out. "Kim, Shea, Courtney, Jinkx." 

Katya smiles at each of them and nods in greeting, and then gawks when she finds out that Kim is Trixie's stylist slash makeup artist. " _You_ put her in _this_ get up?" 

There's a gentle smack to her arm from the musician and Kim recoils as if she's offended, hand pressed to her chest to clutch at her non-existent pearls. "As if she can be told what to wear. You think I didn't make fun of her the entire time before she went out there?"

They're introduced to her one by one after that. Shea designs the merch and, in Trixie's own words, is the only reason she can afford to do what she does. Courtney provides backing vocals when needed and tags along as the opener, and Jinkx is Trixie's tour manager. She talks about her stage manager, Dela, who Katya assumes must be out there with the rest of the crew, and the rest of them assure her that despite being in charge of bossing people around she's actually one of the nicest people she'll ever meet. All in all, they're an insanely friendly bunch, natural banter between them that can only come with years of friendship, and she feels almost too comfortable, already knowing that she'd jump at the chance to travel with them.

 _If_ she's given the chance.

She feels a hand on her lower back and then Tatianna leaning in close. "I'm heading out soon. Are you coming?" To which Katya nods, because she's been on her feet all night and her boots are killing her and the bottom of her back is craving a soft mattress.

Does she want to leave? Not particularly.

The brunette finds her way over to Shea, presumably to start saying her goodbyes, and Katya moves to do the same with Courtney. She's warm, friendly, and when she wraps her arms around Katya's shoulders she really hopes that this isn't the last time she sees her.

Trixie's gaze catches hers over the Australian's shoulder and Katya offers a little wave, though it's clearly not enough for Trixie. Or herself, actually. Trixie laughs at something Kim says before standing up, with Katya breaking away from Courtney at the same time to meet her somewhere in the middle.

The taller blonde reaches out to rest her hand on the sleeve of Katya's jacket until she apparently thinks better of it, and green eyes follow fingers that fidget with the material instead. "Are you leaving?" 

"Yeah," Katya nods, and her lips pull down into a pout for the sole purpose of making Trixie smile. "I have a shoot tomorrow. And I can't feel my toes." 

"You can't feel your toes?" Trixie raises her eyebrows and pokes the toe of those godforsaken boots against Katya's docs, the photographer cackling when she hears Tatianna yell _choices_ from behind her.

There's a beat where the two of them just stare at each other. With anyone else it'd be awkward, Katya thinks, but there's a gentle smile on Trixie's face that matches her own and she has absolutely no desire to break eye contact, but she can't just stand there staring like she wants to.

"Country – folk, whatever – music isn't my thing," Katya starts, nose scrunching as she chooses her words as tactically as possible, "but I really enjoyed it tonight, and I'd love to see you again. Performing, I mean."

The slight tilt of Trixie's head makes Katya overthink her words. Was she too forward? Or, conversely, did adding that last part make her think that's all she's interested in? Was she not forward enough? Did Trixie want her to be forward?

"Of course," Katya's eyes focus again, and she's smiling. "I need your number, or social media, or carrier pigeon if that's more within your comfort zone. I did ask for those edited pictures, after all."

"So you're just using me," The platinum blonde accuses. Her phone is already out of her pocket and into Trixie's hands. She watches her type, deft fingers moving across the screen, and stops herself before she can zone out again as she's given her phone back.

"Is that something you're into?"

Katya rolls her eyes at the question from earlier. She shrugs and offers up a cheeky grin, gaze unwavering. "Yeah, maybe."

Trixie shakes her head and before she knows it she's pulled into a hug that she really didn't expect. "Stupid," Her mouth is right next to her ear and Katya quietly laughs at how odd Trixie must look given the current height difference between them. "It was nice meeting you, even if you did insult my music right off the bat."

"Mama, the fact that I'm here tonight is a huge compliment in itself." 

Her hands find neutral ground in the middle of Trixie's back, fingertips pressing gently into soft cotton. She's trying her absolute best to avoid the lace areas for her own sanity. She knows Tatianna's watching her at this point, leaning against the wall and picking at her nails like she always does. She never complains about waiting for Katya, perhaps because she leaves Katya waiting twice as long.

Trixie begins pulling away and she almost sighs at the loss of contact, arms slowly falling back to her side as she smiles up at her. "Alright, Big Friendly Giant," She's shoved in the shoulder. "I have to go. It's past my bedtime."

"Yeah," Trixie agrees, shoves her softer this time to make her turn around, "wouldn't want the orderlies to put out a missing persons report."

"Son of a–" Katya looks back over her shoulder to see a kiss being blown her way and as much as she'd love to throw back another insult, warmth travels up her neck and into her cheeks. Eyes narrow at the musician first, and then she waves at Shea, Kim and Jinkx, who all return it enthusiastically, as she finds her way back to Tatianna's side.

There's that look on her face. Katya hates it. She hates that she knows she's going to be interrogated the second they get outside.

"Well?"

There it is.

Katya stuffs her hands into her pockets and stares straight ahead as they walk. "What?"

"Don't 'what' me, what the fuck?" 

She almost laughs at the question, and it's pulled out of her chest anyway when Tatianna pinches her side and she has to jump away. "What nothing!"

Tatianna is staring at her like she's out of her mind and the blonde can only tuck her chin into her chest in an attempt to hide a bashful grin. She likes Trixie. Or at least she likes her enough to want to see her again, which is more than she's liked anyone else in the past couple of months.

She turns her head when Tatianna nudges her with her elbow, eyes wide and curious. "Are you going to text her?"

"Well, yeah," Katya shrugs, turns her phone over and over inside of her pocket, "She wants those photos."

Then she's laughing and Tatianna's stomping along the pavement like a toddler, hands reaching out as if she's going to choke her. It's light, the teasing between them. Tatianna has fling after fling, never anything serious, and she's always pushed for Katya to try it out. She did, for a while. Drinks with gorgeous women turning into ventures back to their places, never her own, and then into mission impossible when she catches her breath and comes to her senses, like glass shattering, leaving with her jeans unbuttoned and her shoes under her arm.

She's never been interested in anything beyond the physical aspect, but the way she hit it off with Trixie is making her reconsider. Tatianna can tell.

Once they've calmed down, Katya nods. "I'll text her."

It takes a coffee, a shower, and a good thirty minutes of her lying on her bed staring at the ceiling for her to gather the courage, and even then she ends up sending the most stupid thing she can thing of.

_You have tested positive for chlamydia, please get in contact with the clinic as soon as possible._

There's a grey bubble that pops up, disappears and then pops up again only to give a reply that leaves Katya cackling in the middle of her kitchen.

_you're a cunt._

She's just about to type when another one comes through.

_coffee tomorrow?_

There's a flutter in her chest, nothing too serious, over the fact that Trixie is the one trying to make plans. She mentally runs through her day, chews the inside of her cheek as she replies.

_my shoot finishes at 12 if you can wait that long_

_i have all the time in the world for you, goblin king._

Plans are made to meet at the small bakery down the street from Katya's studio, a little family run business that she's frequented since she moved to LA. It takes the pressure off, a little bit. A familiar place surrounded by familiar faces, where she doesn't have to be hyper-aware of everything that's going on around her.

They text for the rest of the night after that. Trixie tells her about the roadies in her touring crew, about how she became friends with Courtney and that she's known Shea and Kim since high school. Katya doesn't get much of a word in besides the odd joke, but she finds that she doesn't mind all that much.

She falls asleep with her phone in her hand and the lamp on her bedside table still turned on, with the slightest hint of a smile buried deep into her pillow.  



End file.
